Never Alone (23 page)

forty-two

I threw Caroline's cell
into the middle of Third Avenue, just in time for a bus to crush it. I didn't get the euphoria I'd experienced in the past.
What a shame. When the cashier asked if that was all, in truth it was, until I noticed the single wrapped roses in the bucket beside her. It was the last remaining pink rose among the red and white flowers. In that moment, I knew my destiny.

_____

Megan went to the only bar she knew would be open at this early hour: Kinsale's. The same establishment where she'd hooked up with the stockbroker. She was hard-pressed to tell which patrons had been there all night and which had arrived for their morning “coffee.” She didn't care either way. She plunked herself down at the bar and asked for a shot and a beer. She kicked back both and ordered another round while listening to the sound of police sirens coast by. It made her regret not fighting harder to
stay on the case officially. The bartender turned the up the vol
ume on the television—
breaking news on the Upper East Side. No shock to Megan.

No matter what the idiot reporter conveyed, though, it could never match the scene Megan had just walked through.

“Ken—another, and please turn that off,” Megan barked.

It wasn't just another. By noon, she was crocked.

Megan hailed a cab outside Kinsale's. She didn't have the energy to take the subway, and it was midday, so she knew the morn
ing rush-hour traffic would have filtered out by now. She was grateful that the driver wasn't the chatty type. She wasn't in the
mood for forced conversation. She leaned her head back on the
seat and stared out along the East River as they drove south on the FDR. The water was calm, but the gray overcast day made the river appear dark and swampy. The screen in the cab played a similar breaking news report regarding the Upper East Side murder from a competing news channel. She muted the screen, wrapping herself up in her jacket and waiting for the last two shots of whiskey to send warmth through her system. Unfortunately, it was her bladder receiving the more significant effects. When they reached their destination, it would have shouted a “Praise God” louder than a Southern Baptist during service on a scorching Sunday morning if it had a voice.

Megan paid the cabbie and entered the front door to the hospital, but then had to be buzzed through the second door. The nurse at the front desk smiled the same fake smile she'd offered when Rose was admitted. Megan was in no mood to return it.

“Hi, I'm Megan McGinn, Rose McGinn's daughter. I just
wanted to see my mother for a few minutes.”

“I'm sorry, ma'am, it's lunch time. The patients are—”

Megan saw a ladies' room down the hall in the opposite direction of her mother's room. “I'm just going to use the facilities and I'll be right back.”

“Ma'am, I need to see identifi—”

“McGinn! Megan McGinn!”

She left the ladies' room several minutes later feeling very relieved and ready to charge the nurse with verbal abuse for calling her
ma'am
. She walked up to the desk while the nurse was on an obvious personal call.

“Ma'am, I'm sorry, but during lunch the patients—” the nurse spoke while covering the phone with her palm.

Megan pulled out her badge, slapping it down on the desk. She didn't say a word. She stared the nurse down like a Rottweiler contemplating a Bichon Frisé as a snack. She put her badge back into her pocket and marched down the hall. But her slight buzz wasn't what prompted her to turn around to add, “And don't call me ma'am!” Megan would have said that stone-cold sober.

She slowly opened the door to her mother's room. She peeked in, not because she expected her mother to be awake, jump up, and
yell
surprise!
, but out of courtesy. Rose was asleep. Megan smiled over her, then leaned in and kissed Rose on the forehead and whispered, “Hi, Momma. It's me, Meggie. You're all tucked in, I see.” She walked around to the other side of the bed and sat on the edge. She pushed Rose's hair away from her eyes. “I had dinner with the Murphys, they all send their love.”

She cringed at her own lie.

Okay, not really. But they would have if they'd known I was seeing you again so soon. I'll be forgiven, I hope.

There were so many lies being told lately, Megan hoped God was running a two-for-one special on absolution. She watched her mother sleep for a few minutes. She was happy to see Rose was wearing the new nightgown she'd bought for her. “The nightgown I bought looks nice on you, Momma.”

Confession was a foreign concept to Megan, and one she had never taken seriously. When she was young and in Catholic school, she'd sit in the confessional, pop her gum, and tap the door with the tips of her shoes while formulating the most outrageous confessions for the priest to hear.

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned. It's been eight hours since my last confession. I'm really sorry I tried to suffocate my best friend's hamster with a pillow. I was just curious about how long it would take—but thanks for bringing him back to life. I'm sorry for the mean thoughts I had when I caught Sister Augustine drinking from the flask she keeps under her robe. And I'm sorry for the thoughts I had when Bonnie Jean elbowed me in the ribs during gym class today. I couldn't help that one—I'm better at dodgeball than her.”

Megan would end each confession with that line of truth that made the priests disregard her skewed sense of humor. “And I'm sorry … really sorry … for being mad at my mom this week. I'll try to be a better daughter. Okay, that's it, I'm done.”

Megan was sure she'd heard a few poorly suppressed laughs coming from the other side of the confessional, but that was when she was a kid. Now as a grown woman, she needed to get things off her chest that were a lot harder to admit. And she knew that if she lied this time around, she'd only be lying to herself.

“Oh, Momma, where do I begin?” Her heart felt heavier with every word she spoke. “See, there's this case I'm working on.” She held her hand in the stop position. “I know, I know, you hated it
when Dad would talk about a case, especially with me, but Momma …” Megan wiped the end of her nose with her coat
sleeve. “Two young women were murdered, and it's gotten complicated on so many levels, and I'm not sure how I'm going to get through this one. Dad was always in my corner when it came to work. I could go to him with anything, and now he's not here.” She leaned over and grabbed a few tissues from Rose's side table. “I'm not sure if you remember that part, but he died. Sorry if that's a shock.” She blew her nose. “Brendan has his own life out in Ohio for Chrissake, so that leaves me and you.” Megan's tears raced down her face. “The only problem I have with that is …” She pushed her hair back, giving herself a moment to catch her breath. “We never really got along. I'm sure it was more me not getting along with you. I was such a brat to you growing up.” Megan felt a twinge of guilt telling her mother her problems, but the weight of them was taking its toll and she needed to do something to lighten the load.

“Anyway, like I said, I'm working these cases and one of the
women who was murdered, well, I've been dealing with her
mother quite a bit. I know it's wrong to feel this way, and I know how awful this is going to sound, but I'm jealous of them, Momma. I'm jealous of how close they were. It's a terrible thing to say, but it's true.” Megan blew her nose for the third time and pulled out another tissue from the box. “I look at you and me—we were never close, not like that, anyway, especially after what you tried to do to yourself. Now you're here and … it's hard, Momma. It's hard for me to see you this way, and I can't do anything to help you. I feel so guilty. I know I wasn't the kind of daughter you would have preferred. You wanted a ‘girlie-girl,' someone who played with dolls. Someone you could have had pretend afternoon tea parties with.
Someone you could take shopping to Lord and Taylor. Instead, you
got a tree-climbing, sneaker-wearing tomboy. I was so hard on you for that. I went out of my way to not be the daughter you wanted me to be. And whenever I screwed up, you'd let it go. You always forgave me.” Megan looked up at the ceiling and thought,
Well, not always
.

“Okay, the thing with making me wear dresses once in a while, and grounding me for throwing eggs at cars on Halloween, and that time I was caught smashing the neighbor's outdoor Christmas tree lights, and when I put the candy bar in your purse and the grocer thought you'd stolen it. I admit it, that was wrong of me, and I deserved to be punished for that.” She grinned at the notorious pilfering of the Snickers bar; couldn't help from laughing. “The candy bar incident was really wrong of me.” Megan looked down at Rose, unsure if she should continue, but her words flowed as quickly as her tears, and she was unable to control either one. The odd thing was she was starting to feel comfortable talking to her mother.

“There's so much going on that it's starting to overwhelm me a little, maybe a lot. There's something I haven't told you, Momma. This case has gotten personal, and it's starting to worry me. Really worry me. And on top of that, Dad kicking when he did, and all the pressure of trying to do what's best for you, there's only so much a girl can take, ya know?” Megan leaned over, resting her head on Rose's chest. She gripped her shoulders, wanting the hug to be returned. “I miss Dad so much. I miss him so much.”

Megan wasn't sure how long she been crying into her mother's arms when she felt a hand caress the back of her head, followed by a whisper in her ear.

“Baby girl.”

Megan knew the voice, but it had been so long since it'd
sounded this lucid. She lifted up her head and found herself staring into her mother's eyes.

Rose wiped one of the many tears from Megan's cheek. Her blue eyes met Megan's. “Time to buck up, baby girl. Be strong. Have faith. I love you.” Rose held up a strand of Megan's hair, adding, as only a mother could, “You need a haircut.”

Megan half laughed. She then cried on her mother's chest as Rose returned to sleep and Megan followed suit, though not without a moment of gratitude that her mother had recognized her.

forty-three

Megan felt the buzz
from her cell phone. She lifted herself from Rose's embrace. Nappa was calling from his personal cell.

“Hello?” Megan was groggy, rubbing the crust out from her
eyes.

“It's me. I'm with Dr. Max. How soon can you get here?”

“Um.” She checked her watch, “Twenty, maybe twenty-five
minutes? Why?”

“See you then.” A dead line was his gentlemanly farewell.

Your phone skills are depreciating, Nappa.

Megan gazed down at her mother, appreciative for the lucid moment they shared. She got off the bed, making use of her mother's toiletries to freshen up, ignoring the truth facing her: this was probably the last time she'd ever have such a conversation with her mother. The sadness was too much on her sobering system. She needed to leave as soon as possible.

Buck up, baby girl.

“I will, Momma.” She ran her fingers over Rose's hair.

_____

Megan knocked before entering Dr. Max Sutherland's office, but her arrival was obviously expected based on their lackluster response.

“Shut the door.” Dr. Max sat down behind his desk and pulled no punches. “It's your killer.”

The term “your killer” sent a chill through Megan.

“Very little in terms of stomach contents: orange juice, a small amount of oatmeal. Her eye socket was fractured. She was struck on the side of the trachea, skull beaten in on the right side. No signs of sexual abuse.”

Megan glanced over to Nappa. “Why do you think he was so rough with this victim?”

Sutherland interrupted, “This victim was a good twenty
pounds heavier than the last. That may account for something.”

“She put up more of a fight,” Nappa concluded.

“I can say the killer is definitely right-handed based on the
bruising around the neck. Time of death I estimate to be—”

Megan, reminded of the text, said, “I know when she was killed. Why am I here?” Megan knew there was something both men were hesitant to disclose. Formalities went out the window in moments such as these.

Sutherland handed her the small plastic Ziploc. “You need to see this.”

Megan displayed an expression neither man had ever seen on her before. Her hands began to tremble.

“McGinn?” Nappa pulled a chair closer to her.

“This … is my necklace.” Megan sat down, staring at her jewelry. “He put this in …” The thought of it turned her stomach. Sutherland finished the sentence for her.

“Yes. The piece was sutured inside her vaginal canal.”

“Oh my God,” she muttered.

“Are you sure it's yours? How would he get your necklace?”
Nappa squeezed Megan's shoulder.

“I went to the gym to swim laps. I took it off. When I was done,
I went back to get my towel, and it was gone. I thought it fell
through a heating vent.”

Nappa inspected the piece.

“Look at the back,” Megan said. Inscribed in the back of the cross in tiny letters were Megan's initials.

“Jesus Christ.” Nappa handed it back to Sutherland.

Megan walked out of the office shell-shocked, her stomach
feeling as if a battering ram had plunged at her gut. “Wait a sec.” She ran into the ladies' room and vomited out what little was in her stomach. “Oh my God!” She sat on the floor rubbing her temples. “You motherfucker. You motherfucker.”

Nappa knocked on the door. “McGinn, you okay?”

She got up to splash water on her face. “Yeah, yeah, I'll be out in a minute,” she called.

Megan sat a few minutes remembering what Fintan said to her,
It's all a game
.
It's all a game
.

Megan pulled out the business card from her back pocket for Detective Gold, the upstate New York detective who came to the precinct with a connection to what was possibly the first kill.